


A Doozy Of A Day

by RigorMorton



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Father Figures, Feels, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 11:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RigorMorton/pseuds/RigorMorton
Summary: [A request I recieved on Tumblr: "I don’t know if u do fics but like Jerome has taken control of the GCPD and in the middle of a speech has a full on mental breakdown like screaming and crying and Jim Gordon goes to help him?!!"Jim's shift has been suspiciously quiet, considering Jerome Valeska is still on the loose. He knows it won't last long, but has no idea just how unexpected a turn today will take.





	A Doozy Of A Day

**Author's Note:**

> I love this idea. This fic pretty much wrote itself.

Jim leans back in his swivel chair, propping his feet up on his desk. 

He's feeling a bit uneasy about how quiet Gotham's been today despite Jerome and his gang still on the loose. This is highly suspicious. The city should be in utter chaos right now. That little hellbrat must have something big up his sleeve that requirs his full attention. 

Jim squeezes his stress relief ball till his fingers slip, from the sweat forming on his palm. No way today can be this easy.

He sits back up and scoots his chair in closer, lying his head on top of his folded arms.

He must've dozed off, because the loud rev of several motorcycles startles him awake, making him jump up in his seat.

The GCPD goes quiet. Everyone in the building stops what they're doing and looks around curiously.

It sounds like the bikes are circling the station and Jim is hit with a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

"Jerome." He mutters to himself, quickly standing up, and pulling his gun out of the holster.

Before he can give any warning or orders to his fellow officers, the motor noises grow obnoxiously loud and the front doors of the GCPD come crashing down with a bang as Jerome's crazed goons drive through hooping and hollaring their battle cries.

Jim can't even get a shot off. They're all over the place, doing donuts and weaving in and out of the desks.

The other cops are holding their guns up as the goons skid to a stop in the middle of the floor.

"Hello, Jimbo!" Jerome stomps gleefully through the broken threshold, seemingly unbothered by the fact that every cop's gun is now pointed directly at him.

"Now, now, fellas. Don't go doing anything stupid." He grins, opening up his vest to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. "If I go, we all go."

Jim shuts his eyes in frustration, letting out a deep sigh. Of course Jerome would ensure his safety with a dead man's switch. Of fucking course.

"What do you want, Jerome?" Jim already knows the answer, but he's trying to move things along.

"Don't play naive, Jimmy. You know I came for my brother."

Jim gives a nonchalant shrug, playing it cool as always. "He's not here."

"Bullshit. I know you took him into police custody last night. I have eyes everywhere. Now hand him over and we'll be on our way."

"Can't do that, Kiddo." Jim shakes his head.

Jerome lets out an annoyed sigh and makes his way over to the detective, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"Jimbo. You know you're my favorite detective. Truly Gotham's finest. I like you. And I really mean it." He reaches out, taking Jim's collar in his hands, straightening it out for him. "You're so driven and I really admire that. I would miss you if you were gone."

Jim grimaces at the implied threat. "I can't give him to you Jerome. I'm sorry." The detective stands his ground. 

Jerome huffs, looking more upset than before. Like he's gonna snap.

He turns away from Jim and walks up the stairs onto the platform that Jim usually uses to make his announcements. 

"Jeremiah's not that great, ya know." Jerome looks particularly annoyed.

"If you knew the things I know, you'd want to hand that little pissant over to me. He was the bad seed. Not me."

Jim squints in confusion. Something about Jerome is off. Jerome is usually pretty happy go lucky, even when he gets angry. Right now all he sees is a deep seeded anger and there's emotion behind it this time. It's a little disturbing. Maybe he can use this to his advantage. 

"How so, Jerome? Tell us." Jim gulps, worrying about the can of worms that's about to open up.

Jerome looks over at Jim, appearing confused and shocked.

"Go ahead. We're listening."

Harvey shoots a 'what the fuck' look, to a shrugging Jim.

Jerome clears his throat. He's not one to get emotional, but his brother coming back into his life has stirred something up inside him. Something he wasn't aware he still had. Feelings.

"Did you guys know, I was a normal kid?" Jerome says as he starts to pace the floor. "Hard to believe, I know. But I was."

His eyes avert down to the floor, like he's remembering. 

The entire GCPD is silent. Everyone watching in amazement as Gotham's most ruthless killer has an emotional breakdown. 

"Ya see, Jeremiah was everyone's favorite, but he had everyone fooled. I was once a normal kid who loved his mom…" He pauses to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I had hopes and dreams just like every kid my age."

The room falls silent again.

"My brother lied. He told our mother that I tried to kill him, so he could get out of the circus life because he thought he was too good for us." 

Jerome has to pause again to gather himself. He's never had anyone willing to listen to him, and now he's got a whole police station standing in awe, listening to his every word intently.

Jim is just floored by this. He had no idea there was any human left in Jerome. How could anyone with a soul, do the terrible things Jerome has done? He can't make sense of it, but then again, he's not a shrink.

"That little twerp made my mother hate me. He turned everyone I loved against me and ran off like a coward to leave me to deal with it." Jerome sniffles.

"See. JEREMIAH WAS NOT THE GOOD ONE! Mom." He scoffs. 

"And I'll tell ya, from there on out my life was hell. The beatings just never stopped. They just kept on coming. Every day." 

His voice starts to break, making everyone in the building stare in confusion. Goons and cops alike are turning to each other, shaking their heads.

Jerome turns his back on his new found audience and sits down on the floor, pulling his knees into his chest.

"What the actual fuck?" Harvey mutters to Jim. "What is happening?" 

"I don't know." Jim squeezes the bridge of his nose. "But I feel like I should talk to him."

"Fuck no. Let him stew in his misery."

"Harvey, he's got a bomb strapped to his chest. You sure it's a good idea to let him become overcome with emotion?"

Harvey sighs, nodding his head. "You're right. You're always right." He pats Jim on the back. "Good luck, buddy."

"Gee, thanks." Jim scoffs.

He slowly walks up the steps in order not to spook Jerome. 

"Jerome, it's Jimbo. I'm coming up the stairs just to talk, okay?"

Jerome gives him a suspicious look from over his shoulder.

Jim opens the barrel of his gun carefully, letting the bullets fall to the floor with a clank, and kicking the gun across the room.

"See?" He holds his hands up. "I just wanna talk."

Jerome gives him a nod, and Jim slowly moves in closer. He sits down on the floor next to the sulking kid and puts a hand on the small of his back, making Jerome flinch in response.

"I'm sorry." Jim moves his hand away quickly. 

Nobody's touched Jerome affectionately since he was a small child, except when Leslie consoled him after his mother's body was first discovered. But she thought Jerome was an innocent, grieving child. Jim consoling him, knowing what he is, is just too weird.

"It's ok." He finally responds. "Just a reflex."

Jim nods and puts his hand back, giving Jerome a light pat.

"That must've been really rough growing up with that. I'm so sorry nobody was around back then to help you."

There's a sincerity in Jim's voice that hits Jerome like a thousand knives. Nobody has ever cared about his abuse. Not even his own father. He can't handle it.

A weird swelling feeling fills his throat. He tries to swallow it down but to no avail.

Jim watches curiously as Jerome wiggles his nose and jaw, like he's trying not to cry.

That can't possibly be why though. No way. Maybe he's about to sneeze or something.…

The swelling in Jerome's glands grows stronger and his nose starts to run. 

Next he feels a warm trickle come down his over his cheeks and he immediately wipes it away, putting his wet fingers up to his lips.

"What is this salty discharge?" His voice now broken and squeaky.

Jim can't even answer right away. His mouth hangs open in disbelief. Jerome Valeska, the maddest of Gotham's mad, is literally crying. Real tears. 

The detective clears his throat. "They're tears, Jerome."

The red head starts to chuckle. "Impossible." He sniffles loudly, twitching his nose. 

Jim sighs in frustration. He shouldn't expect any less from the ginger maniac that's given him nothing but grief for four years. 

"Look, kid…" He squeezes the back of Jerome's neck, playfully. Like a father would during a pep talk with his son. "I believe you and honestly, your brother sounds like an asshole."

Jerome smiles slightly at that.

"But I can't give him over to you. Your bomb won't change my mind. I'm a cop. It's my job to put citizen's safety above my own. It's the whole precinct's job."

Jerome presses his lips together, staring ahead blankly.

"Go home, Jerome. Just go home. Your brother can't stay here forever and nobody's gonna try and stop you from walking out of here with that thing strapped to your chest. Just go home and figure your shit out later, huh?"

He rips a hanky out of his shirt pocket and hands it to the kid.

Jerome takes it and blows his nose obnoxiously loud. "Ok." 

He tries to hand the snot soiled handkerchief back to Jim.

The detective puts a hand up, shaking his head. "You keep it."

"Thanks." Jerome sniffles, shoving it into his pants pocket.

Jim gives the kid another pat on the back, before getting back up to his feet. He stretches a hand out, and Jerome takes it, brushing himself off as he stands.

He turns around to face his audience, feeling awkward about the way they stare at him in disbelief. Even his own followers.

Jerome keeps his head held high, as he makes his way down the stairs.

"We're leaving." He snaps his fingers, prompting his goons to follow him, pushing their bikes along with them.

"Go, go." Jerome ushers them out the door, turning around to give Jim one last look.

Jim gives a nod of acknowledgement and Jerome flashes a very subtle smile in return before disappearing out into the street.

"What the fuck, was that?" Harvey asks, running his own hand down his face.

Jim shakes his head and walks over to the balcony overlooking the precinct.

"Ok. Back to work, everybody. Show's over. And Alvarez!" He hollars across the room. "Call someone to fix the door."

"I'm on it, captain."

Jim walks down the stairs, back to his desk - all eyes still on him, and plops back down in his chair with a huff.

He knew today was suspiciously quiet and that he was probably in for a doozy of a shift, but could've never predicted just how much.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. My feels.


End file.
